Moving to Another House
by frankenfeels
Summary: At John's insistence, Molly goes to 221B Baker Street to pick up Sherlock's "collection" of body parts the he has amassed in their small fridge.
1. Chapter 1

Dr. John Watson had called Molly Hopper at three in the afternoon on a Saturday—about a month and a half after the whole Moriarty, Sherlock, Watson standoff, and the completely awkward reveal of "Oh! Forgot to mention, but your boyfriend Jim, from IT, isn't who you think he is. Turns out, he's a criminal mastermind and the world's only 'Consulting Criminal', alright?"—to ask her—beg is a more suitable word—to please come by to pick up _all_ of the body parts Sherlock had amassed in their small refrigerator.

Molly was reluctant and told John that couldn't he just drop it off at Barts during one of her more numerous shifts?

"Nope, 'fraid not", he said over the phone, "it must be **you** that collects the body parts."

Molly sighed, with her free hand massaging her temple, "Alright", she mutters, "but only if Sherlock isn't there."

"Oh! I get it! You don't have to explain anything," John said, loudly, "Sherlock _can be_ very attached to his body parts so I'll try to get him out of the flat for a few hours, okay?"

That wasn't why Molly didn't want Sherlock to be there, but Molly, not really wanting to talk about it, went along with it. "That'd be great. I'll be there in an hour."

"Fantastic!" John yelled with enthusiasm, "and the address is 221B Baker Street."


	2. Chapter 2

Mrs. Hudson let Molly into Sherlock's and John's flat, the windows still boarded up and the flat completely empty. On any other day, Molly would have been ecstatic and thrilled to be in Sherlock's flat; this is where Sherlock stood (naked, she would hope), this is where Sherlock slept, and spend most of his days. However, instead of delight, she felt angry and annoyed that she had to give her day to clean up a mess that _he _made.

..."That's the problem with shows on the telly these days..." Mrs. Hudson rambled off as Molly walked towards the refrigerator with a bag, a few pairs of latex gloves, and a type of cleaner.

"Yes, yes", Molly mumbled as she laid her hand on the fridge door handle, "quite so", agreeing, absent-mindedly, with Mrs. Hudson. Molly opened the fridge door, the stench of death slapping her in the face, and her eyes watered from the odor, now understanding why John had _insisted _that she come over _immediately_. "Mrs. Hudson", she coughed, "I suggest that you leave before the odor reaches you", Molly bent over to grab an escaping eyeball when she heard the door open and slam close.

Molly continued to work for another ten minutes when she thought she heard the fount door open, but thought nothing of it as she stuffed some guts in the bag.

"What are you doing with my experiments?" a familiar low voice asked. Molly quickly stood up, with the guts in her left hand and the bag full of body parts in the other, to see Sherlock—with some scars and bruises—standing there.

Molly felt an uncomfortable churn in her stomach that she kept telling herself was because of the rotting cheese next to the rotting guts, "Well, John practically begged me to come over and collect your"—Molly paused and then said acerbically—"your _collection_."

"You can't do that", Sherlock said loudly as he floated towards her, taking off, and throwing his coat and scarf onto the floor. "They're for an experiment."

Molly sighed and then said melancholically, "John told me you'd say something like that and told me to tell you, 'No'", and then added quickly in a cruelly tone, "And I'm not talking to you", she said pointing at him with her left hand.

"Oh", Sherlock said as he glided to the table and sat down, "why?" he asked as he unbuttoned his sleeve to his elbow to examine his nicotine patches.

"You know why", Molly muttered as she went back to work.

"Have you lost weight?" he asked, nonchalantly.

"Yes, six pounds."

"Mm, five."

"Five and a half", Molly added quickly.

"But, I don't think that's the only way you've changed."

Molly sighed and faced Sherlock again, "Well, anybody would change after the police turns their flat upside down, searching for evidence", Molly wiped her hair out her face with her wrist, "and stop making me talk to you or I'll kick you."

Sherlock smirked as Molly turned back around to work, "What _has_ changed you? You're not frightened and withered as I expected you to be after what"—Sherlock paused—"_he_ did."

Molly stood up as she plopped the bag on the table, "I stopped caring", she grinned and turned back around and shook some of the cleaner into the fridge, "I don't care about what you think anymore, about what people think of me, or what people think at all."

Sherlock nodded, "Well, I gotta say, this 'I-don't-care' demeanor is very interesting. More interesting than your normal behavior."

Molly closed the fridge door and spun around to face Sherlock, "Thanks Sherlock", she said sarcastically and as she snapped off her gloves said, "Incidentally, you've gotten fat", she then threw her gloves towards Sherlock and, grabbing the bag, left.


	3. Chapter 3

Two weeks _after_ this, Sherlock and John were finally back in the game. Lestrade had called them after a woman was found shot in her garden.

"Molly, I need to see the body of Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings", Sherlock said as he strolled into the morgue, with John close behind him.

A silence followed, which usually would have been filled with an "Um, sure."

"Molly?" John shouted, starting to get nervous. "Molly?"

Instead of the mousy forensic pathologist they had come accustom to, a tall black man appeared. "May I help you?" he asked in a grave, African accent.

"Yes, I need to see the body of Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings", Sherlock said, "And Kenya?"

The Kenyan smiled and lowly pointed at Sherlock, "You must be Sherlock Holmes. Dr. Hopper told me all 'bout you."

"Yes, yes, of course", Sherlock nodded, "by the way, where is Molly?"

The Kenyan paused, with his mouth gapping open, and then said, "She transferred to St Peter's hospital in Essex, but she explained the arrangement St. Bart's and you have so"—the Kenyan pulled out a clipboard from out of nowhere and glanced at it quickly—"Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings?" Sherlock nodded again, "Follow me, then."


End file.
